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Good Day, Sunday

If this is your first time at comment_fic on Sunday, you can either post a previous prompt, or fill one. Or both!

How to do this:

If you're looking for a prompt to fill, you can rummage around in http://previous.delicious.com/commentfic. Likewise, you can use that to search for prompts you'd like to see filled. Alternately, you can go through the archive posts for good prompts!

Whichever you decide to do, prompt or fill (or both!), please remember:

1. You can only request five prompts to be filled.
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3. You can, however, fill as many prompts as you'd like!
4. In the subject line, be sure to say whether this is a request or a fill!
5. Be sure to link back to whatever the prompt is (whether filling or requesting it be filled), and, if you're filling the prompt, please complete the fill as a response to the original prompt.
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7. Finally - if you filled any lonely prompts earlier this week, this is the place to share them!

How to link:

[a href="http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/139897.html?thread=30155641#t30155641">Burn Notice, Sam/Michael/Fi, "It's always been you. And it's always gonna be you"[/a]
(change the brackets to "<" and ">" respectively)


Burn Notice, Sam/Michael/Fi, "It's always been you. And it's always gonna be you"


Feb. 23rd, 2014 04:56 pm (UTC)
Justified, Raylan/Rachel, he kinda likes being put in his place

Suppertime Blues

Raylan hates the hospital. He's been stuck here for 24 hours, being observed for a possible concussion and having his fractured leg set, but he's getting antsy, tired of having his temperature and blood pressure taken every time he gets comfortable and being fed questionable-looking things that don't taste like anything in particular.

Supper is brown and green. Theoretically, the brown part is some kind of meat with gravy, but he honestly has no idea what kind of vegetable the other stuff is supposed to be. Hell, maybe it's soylent green.

There's a little side dish of apple sauce. It tastes vaguely like apples, but awfully puny ones. Just thinking about what it ought to taste like puts him in mind of his Aunt Helen's apple crisp, tart and spiced with cinnamon, the apples cooked until they're soft, and the sweet, buttery topping. He regards the ersatz goo on his tray with disfavor.

There's no knock on his door, just a blur of pin-striped charcoal and Rachel enters carrying a plain brown shopping bag.

"You know I caught your suspect, right?" is her greeting.

"Art said. "

"Honestly, Raylan, what were you thinking, charging after her down those icy steps?"

"That she was wanted on fifteen counts of cashing Social Security checks that weren't hers," he says, sniffing. "Rachel, what's in that bag?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in." She looks at the tray in front of him. "Seeing as you already have a perfectly good dinner...."

"I wouldn't feed this slop to pigs," he grumbles, "and if I did, I'd probably get in trouble with the Humane Society."

There's a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You know, Raylan, there are starving orphans--"

"Technically, I *am* an orphan, and if I don't get some real food soon, I *will* be starving."

Rachel opens the bag. "You'd better eat it all," she says, mock-threatening. "We have fried chicken." Two golden-tan drumsticks emerge from a packet of foil. A plastic container joins the feast. Rachel cracks the lid One whiff and he knows it's collards with bacon. "And I hope you like greens. If you're good and finish it every bite, there's dessert."

"You're an angel," he says fervently, grabbing the hospital's plastic fork and digging into the tender greens. They're moist and delicately salted from the bacon in them.

"Biscuit," she offers, unwrapping one from a napkin, and he uses it to soak up the juice from the collards.

"Pot-licker", they'd called it at home. His mama and Aunt Helen had both made it the same way, not surprising--thery'd both learned how from Granny--but Winona had never been much of a cook. Her biscuits came out of a can, and she didn't care for collards--said they smelled like burning rubber cooking.

Raylan applies himself to Rachel's gift and lets her scold him about his reckless ways, and it could be his mother or Aunt Helen chiding him for tearing his Sunday shirt or giving him what-for for any of many boyish misdeeds.

There's nothing left when he's done. The drumsticks are gnawed down to the nub, the collards are gone, the container wiped clean with the biscuit, every crumb of which he's devoured.

Rachel looks at the scant remains and smiles. As she reaches into the bag, Raylan says, "If that's apple crisp, I'll marry you."

"Lucky me," she says. "It's chocolate cake. Coca-cola cake, to be exact."

"That's good too," Raylan says with alacrity. Aunt Helen made that every year for his birthday.

There's a plateful of epic fudge frosting atop dark, rich cake and the first divine chocolate mouthful makes him moan with contentment.

"Marry you?" Rachel chuckles, stashing the foil-wrapped bones and empty tupperware into the bag. "Why in the world would I want to do that? I get enough of you at work. "

"You could stay home and cook."

"Not me. You'd be back in here with food poisoning on a regular basis."

"Introduce me to the cook," he suggests, chocolate slurring his words.

"It would serve you right if I did," Rachel says, and starts talking about her aunt, and how jealous her uncle is, and Raylan just smiles and eats his cake.


Edited at 2014-02-23 04:59 pm (UTC)
Feb. 23rd, 2014 08:05 pm (UTC)
Re: Filled
I like how much certain foods remind him of his mom and Aunt Helen and their banter here was so easy to picture.

Thank you.
Feb. 24th, 2014 03:45 am (UTC)
Re: Filled
Glad you enjoyed it! I love the way these two bicker, and the prompt just seemed to tie in with the storyline I had going. The hardest part was paring it down to fit in the comment limit!

Feb. 24th, 2014 09:54 am (UTC)
Re: Filled
One of the things I like about Rachel and Tim is that they can give as good as they get with Raylan. Art does it too, must be a job requirement :)

I also like the way Rachel sees right through Raylan, her comments are very insightful at times, probably more than he'd like.


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